His Mind
by sapphire-angel-gem
Summary: I have learnt that the best thing that I can do when dealing with him is keep my mouth shut. Sequel to ‘His Secret’.


**His Mind**

**Summary-** I have learnt that the best thing that I can do when dealing with him is keep my mouth shut. Sequel to 'His Secret'.

**A/N- **So here it is, the promised sequel to _His Secret._ I'd like to say that's it's the long awaited sequel grins but I don't think even I'm that delusional. Basically, this one can be read as a stand-alone, but it would probably be better to read them in order, because the next one will make reference to this one and the one before it. But, that's for another time, now, isn't it? Enjoy!

I have learnt that the best thing that I can do when dealing with him is keep my mouth shut. I didn't always know that though. I used to think myself so clever, knowing what was wrong and cheerfully prescribing my favourite method in all of those psychiatric books I had read; trying to force him to talk about his troubles.

But I didn't know. I might have thought I knew all but, in truth, I didn't actually know anything at all.

Sometimes I blame my failures in getting him to talk on Ron Weasley's lack of tact. Other times I blame it on Harry Potter, reasoning that he was just a stubborn and frustrating prat. A few times I have caught myself blaming Albus Dumbledore for sending him to his awful relatives.

However, I know the truth. My failures are my own fault for being so pushy and aggravating back then. _I _most likely wouldn't have wanted to tell me about my deepest and darkest secrets.

I would be lying, though, if I said that some of the blame, at least, does not lay with Harry. The problem with Harry's mind is that it is so intricate and complex it fascinates you and dares you to try and figure it out. If it were something I could hold in my hands I would hold it with the gentility and care I would use whilst handling a fragile and precious crystal.

Not that I am saying is mind is fragile. Oh no. If it were fragile it would have smashed to a thousand pieces by now with a lot of them missing. Neither is it entirely innocent, despite how naïve and good Harry is. It draws you in and then watches as you fail continuously to unravel the mystery.

I have fallen into this trap many, many times.

I liked to think that I could solve any problems. Mathematical equations, logic puzzles, mysteries… even those funny little 'Spot the Difference' things that I used to love as a child.

I had told myself that I could solve any problem for so many years that I actually believed it too. My parents didn't help either, always telling me that they were so proud of me and they believed that some day, if I wanted to find out how to create a device that would travel thousands and thousands of light-years and discover new life in new galaxies, I would be able to do it.

Back then nothing was going to get in my way, absolutely nothing. No obstacle was too large for me, no path too long.

I was going to solve everything.

However, I had never encountered a problem such as Harry Potter before.

From the moment I met him I just knew that Harry was an enigma. It took me a moment to believe that he was _the_ Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, the saviour of the wizarding world, the one who was so famous in said world for doing such a commendable deed at only age one and a half. I had worked out his age and I was so excited when I realised we were to be in the same year.

Imagine, me, Hermione Jane Granger, set to know Harry James Potter, the most famous child in the new world I was heading into!

I had visions of a confident, handsome young boy, but not at all arrogant and very courteous. I would imagine dreamily of the classic case of me tripping over in the corridors and my load of books spilling everywhere and, as I rushed to pick them all up for class, he would stop and help without me even asking. Then he would walk with me to class and we would somehow become friends along them way.

Not that I would ever dare tell either Harry or Ron this.

But I was so caught up in this image that the only thing I could do when I actually met him was babble to cover my staring.

He had been nothing like I imagined. He was, is really, so small for his age and thin almost to the point of scrawny. His round wire-framed black glasses were much too big for his small face and gave his already large, bright green eyes an owlish type of look. The black mop on his head, so uncontrollable even to this day, hid the famous scar as though he were ashamed of it.

He was incredibly shy too, and a little soft-spoken. Actually, he still is. He has got such a gentle nature that I just want to kidnap him out from under Dumbledore's, the Ministry's and Voldemort's noses and hide him away from all of the hurt that he has suffered and will suffer in the world.

Somehow I wasn't too disappointed when I actually first met Harry on the train ride to school. My visions of grandeur were just that; visions. But Harry was real and he was near me and he was so much nicer and more exciting to be around then I could ever have imagined.

Perhaps it was the challenge, so subtly laid down that it would be so easy to miss, laid down with the finesse of skilled fingers, that drew me to him like a moth to a bright, flickering flame. For I knew what he thought of me after our first meeting, the know-it-all who had to share anything and everything and be the best at everything, but I still found every opportunity I could to be somewhere near him. With both of us in Gryffindor this endeavour was much easier then expected.

Or it could have been his reluctance to say anything nasty to me. He never joined in with Ron's teasing, nor did he join in when his friends were being cruel to me behind my back. Though he made no effort to extend the hand of friendship he still fought to keep the both of us on neutral ground with no bad blood between us, which strengthened the eventual friendship the two of us developed. I have never felt as close to Ron as I do to Harry in the terms of friendship. Because he is, in a way, my unsung hero. He is the one that has always been there for me, the one who saved me from myself. Saved me from a lifetime of books being my only friends and never viewing the exciting side to life. He showed me the value of friendship, and never expects a thing in return.

See, he saved my life too in our first year. Though he did not particularly like me he still dragged Ron to my aide when the troll was let loose on Hogwarts to try and kill Harry and put himself in danger to help me.

It must be the extreme Gryffindor in him.

When Harry tells the story of my rescue he tells it modestly, trying to pass it off to me that he and Ron made the decision together to come and rescue me, and that it was Ron who knocked the troll out anyway. He claims he could have killed himself jumping onto the trolls back like that and sticking his wand up its nose. Even though he says all this, we both know that he would do it again without a worry for his own safety.

I am rather glad that I do not entirely listen when Harry tells a story from his point of view. I get the basic story from him, and then Ron fills in the parts that Harry neglected to say or altered slightly. I am thankful, sometimes that he is so blunt and tactless, for he told me, in no uncertain terms, that if Harry had not persuaded him to go look for the troll, then I would more then likely be dead right about now.

It is a strange concept to think of, that. Could I really be dead now if things went differently? And it makes me wonder, if there were an alternate universe where the world as I know it doesn't exist, where would I be in it? Would I be dead, with only my parents mourning my loss? Would I still be friends with Ron and Harry? Would Harry have parents, and would he still act the same? I would love the chance to know, despite how unrealistic the idea is.

But there is one thing that I do know for sure. If Harry weren't around I would be an insufferable bookworm, spending all my time not in class in the library, and Ron would continue bullying me, perhaps even to the point where I would leave the magical world behind. Harry may not realise it, but I feel that he is the glue that stuck us together. He was the one that made our friendship what it is now, with all its highlights and its downfalls.

I'm sitting across from him now, sitting on the lounge as I write. He's sitting beside Ginny, his left hand in both of hers and his right hand scribbling away at his potions essay. As I watch him, he looks up and for a brief moment peers at me with his brilliant emerald eyes. Then he gives me a quick smile and lowers his eyes to the parchment once more.

I can't tell what he is thinking, what is running through his mind behind his bespectacled eyes. Is he thinking of his essay, trying to remember everything he knew about the subject in the hopes something will end up being useful? Is he thinking about Ginny, wondering how he was so lucky to be going out with her? Or is his mind furiously thinking up a possible reason why I was watching him?

There are so many questions about him! Why does he feel inferior and value himself less then others? Why won't he tell us when something is wrong, preferring instead to suffer alone? What does it mean when he just sits and stares into space with no emotion showing on his face? What is truly going on behind his face?

And yet… none of them can ever be answered unless Harry willingly gives me the key that will allow me to solve the mystery, but I know he wouldn't do that. He locks things away in a corner with so many locks and deadbolts one key would never be enough and pretends everything is fine. If he came out and actually told us when something was wrong with him I would find it so uncharacteristic that I would have to wonder if he was perhaps not Harry but rather a Death Eater on polyjuice.

_No, Hermione, nothing is wrong…_

_What is the matter? Nothing, why?_

_I'm fine…_

_Seriously, I'm alright, just a bit of a cold, nothing bad…_

_It's only a graze, nothing to worry about…_

_There is nothing wrong, especially something that would warrant me making a visit to the hospital wing…_

_I'm not upset, I'm just thinking…_

_No, really, everything is fine…_

He could be bleeding all over the floor from a potentially fatal wound that was inflicting on him excruciating pain, and he would still insist that nothing was wrong.

It frustrates me to no end because I know I cannot help him unless he lets me in. But he won't let me in, he keeps me at arms length, too frightened that I, like countless others, will let him down.

Perhaps the incident that stands out the most in my mind, only because it is so recent, happened just yesterday afternoon. At the same time, however, I think it is a perfect example of what I am trying to say about Harry and his extremely frustrating personality.

Both Ginny and Ron were in detention late in the evening, Ginny cleaning the trophy room under Filch's watch and Ron probably scrubbing cauldrons while Snape sneered and snarled at him. I shudder to think what the two of them must have done, and am even almost thankful that they neglected to tell me and Harry the reasoning behind their troubles.

Since there was nothing else for me to do, having finished all of my homework and finding now extra work for me to catch up on, I decided that I would accompany Harry to the Quidditch pitch and sit in the stands to read while he flew.

At least, that's what I told Harry I was going to do. He didn't have to realise that I hadn't even turned a page of my book the whole time I was sitting there, opening it to the middle to make it seem like I was engrossed in it. If he realised that I was actually preferring to watch him fly rather then read I would never live it down, particularly if he told Ron and Ginny.

I love to watch Harry fly, I fully admit it. I love the look of pure bliss and peace on his face as he gently and effortlessly manoeuvres his broom so it cut swiftly through the air. He is in his element up there and it is the one time that I know what he is thinking because it shows so clearly on his face.

So I sat there, disguising my eyes following his path with the book held high in my hands so I could lean back slightly on the bench, thus being able to see him better and being relaxed at the same time.

The thing I have noticed about flying, I have noticed after the many times I have watched Harry and all the others, is that it is a like a dance. Some are less practiced then others, and some so much less graceful that it can almost be agonising to watch. I like to watch this dance and note what it says about the person performing it.

Fred and George Weasley, Ron's twin brothers, flew for speed and power, always going everywhere at a fast pace, which made them excellent beaters. But their turns were slightly softened at the edge, showing that underneath their bravado and their fierceness they had quite a gentle nature. Oliver Wood turned sharply and moved aggressively, revealing his highly competitive nature. Ron is unsure how good he is and what others will think of him, and movements are jerky and slow. Draco Malfoy flew confidently, cockily, as though even his flight was trying to say that no one was better then him.

But Harry moves quickly with the slightest touch, his moves gentle, his movements helping him see everything at once so he could keep a sharp eye out for the elusive snitch, but not at all aggressive as he flew mainly for the pleasure of the wind in his hair. He is as sure and content in the air as though he had been born to be there always. His dance is the most spectacular of them all.

As I watched him then I could see him dive to the ground, level out and then shoot back up again like a rocket, smiling slightly, and I hurriedly pretended to be reading, and pretending that my heart was not trying to thump its way out of my chest.

The first time I ever saw him do this I had nearly had a heart attack and Ron had actually had to hold me in my seat so I would storm onto the pitch, ruining the practice, and confiscate his broom.

Truth be told my heart still gives a flutter of fear when I see his dangerous manoeuvres and it beats faster as I feel I am waiting for the inevitable crash. And then he pulls up, safe from harm, as he always does.

For awhile I had lost him the darkening sky and, after about five minutes of not being able to see any sign of him whatsoever, I abandoned all pretence of reading and stood from my seat, concerned about his whereabouts.

After awhile he came rocketing down from the clouds at break-neck speeds as though the hounds of hell themselves were after him, continuously looking back over his shoulder with a look of curiosity.

I shook my head at him when he looked my way, but my traitorous heart sped up again as he neared the grounds with no sign of stopping, but I calmly told myself that he had everything in control. Soon he was going to pull up, he was going to look away from the sky and towards the fast approaching field, and pull up, just as he always did.

Any moment now… any second…

_HARRY, WATCH OUT!_

I watched in horror as Harry jerked his head around to look at the ground when he heard my scream and I even saw his eyes widen in horror. He tried to pull up with all the strength he had. But he was too close the ground and the front of his broom caught the ground and he was sent flying, head over heels. He tumbled over the ground when he hit, rolled to a stop, and lay still.

Needless to say I wasted no time in running out of the stands, nearly jumping over the railing in my haste to get to him, leaving my book on the seats, and I had nearly reached him when he groaned and sat up, rubbing his head and looking at me with a slightly sheepish look.

Note one; In Harry's book, if he is feeling well enough to attempt to sit and then stand up, then we was well enough to do anything else too.

Unfortunately for him, no one else agreed with the rather strange rules in his book, and the moment I reached him I started fussing, unable to help myself after the scare I had just had.

Note two; Harry loathes people fussing over him.

_Are you alright?_

_Yes, Hermione, I'm fine._

_You should lie back down for a moment, just to make sure._

_I'm alright, Hermione…_

_Oh! You're bleeding! Madam Pomfrey will be able to fix that up for you._

_Hermione…_

_Quickly, let's go to the hospital wing and see her…_

_Hermione, stop it! I'm fine!_

Note three; when Harry snaps at us, then we know that he is really, really annoyed or upset with us, or he hadn't had enough sleep the night before, though this type of crankiness is usually killed by a good dose of coffee.

Shocked, I had fallen silent, mentally berating myself for, once again, being so pushy and overbearing. It was wonder he and Ron put up with me, honestly.

Immediately, however, Harry had begun apologising profusely to me for losing his temper. I made sure that he knew I had taken no offence to it and I helped him up so we could get back to Gryffindor Tower, making no more mention of visiting the school matron. When we got to the common room I tended to the bleeding but just above his left eyebrow and we sat and talked about inane things while he waited for Ron and Ginny to come back and tell us what happened to them in detention.

See the way his mind works? It is so confusing, so frustrating. He constantly demonstrates a lack of concern for his own well-being and happiness, quite content to make sure our needs are suitable met and never having time to tend to his own needs and wants.

How does he do it? How is he so unselfish, so good, so pure? I am almost envious of him at times, but at others I am not. I am envious because, despite popular belief, I am as prone to selfish desires and dark thoughts as the next person, I just manage to hide them a little better.

Yet I am not envious because Harry isn't complete. It is unhealthy for him to suppress his own desires, I learnt that much from those useless psychology books, but he keeps doing it. He longs for comfort and love, but does not know how to ask. He wants to demand attention from us sometimes, when he is so quiet we forget he is there, but he does cannot fathom the process of doing such a thing.

So I sit here, writing on a scroll of parchment while everyone else believes me to be doing my transfiguration homework, risking this being discovered before I can shove it into the deepest, darkest corner of my trunk, never, ever to see the light of day, or the light of a candle, again.

I sit here, and I know, I just _know_ in my heart, that the enigma that his Harry Potter, the boy I love as my surrogate brother, and the mystery that is his mind will never, ever by solved by even himself.

**Thank you to;**

This this is technically like the next chapter of a story, I thought I might thank the people who reviewed _His Secret._ A big thank you to them, because it was their reviews that helped this story be written. So, thank you;

_Norbet, Miss Vix, like whoa, SilverKestrel, Freja Lercke-Falkenborg, asdfjkl;_ and _Aldavinur_


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